Read on Twitter
Okay I'm already getting tons of fun suggestions but I also have an idea for a silly trucker/waitress AU so I'm going to do that for now, haha. Watch this space... https://twitter.com/RoadieN60/status/1307378351649288199
When Maggie started working here, the sign over the door was still hand-painted. "M'gann's Diner," it read then, on plywood hanging over well-maintained clapboard.
But times started changing. It was hard to draw business in Nebraska when your name was hard for the locals
But times started changing. It was hard to draw business in Nebraska when your name was hard for the locals
to pronounce. So she changed it to Megan's Diner, and then Flying J came along and gave her an offer she couldn't refuse. So now Maggie worked in a truck stop diner that looked like every other truck stop diner on the I-80, and the drivers forgot about her as soon as they left
because in her uniform, she faded into the blur of all the Flying J waitresses they'd seen along their route.
Sometimes she recognized regular drivers.
They rarely recognized her.
Sometimes she recognized regular drivers.
They rarely recognized her.
They were all men. The older ones were usually deaf from driving the noisy rigs in the 70s. The young ones were either painfully eager or painfully defeated, depending on their path into the job.
They were mostly men, and mostly white.
qqq
They were mostly men, and mostly white.
qqq
(ack sorry for that weird typo?)
The tips got worse after they became the Flying J, but the benefits were better. She had health and dental and a 401k option she couldn't afford to take yet. She'd enrolled her aunt as a dependent, so her diabetes medication was covered.
The tips got worse after they became the Flying J, but the benefits were better. She had health and dental and a 401k option she couldn't afford to take yet. She'd enrolled her aunt as a dependent, so her diabetes medication was covered.
Every day looked more or less like the day before. Food orders, aching feet, sweating or shivering depending on the season. Online classes from the community college sometimes. Regular propositions to follow some lonely road warrior to the back of his cab for the night.
Sometimes they'd offer more than that.
"Come on with me," they'd say. "There's nothing like the open road."
And it might have been tempting, in some ways, if it weren't for the obvious.
Except for a family trip to Chicago when she was twelve, she'd never left the state.
"Come on with me," they'd say. "There's nothing like the open road."
And it might have been tempting, in some ways, if it weren't for the obvious.
Except for a family trip to Chicago when she was twelve, she'd never left the state.
She was working the counter the day things changed.
They didn't sell alcohol. The liability, when most of their clients were drivers, was too high. But they had bar anyway, where lonely drivers could sit and eat and talk to someone who was paid to be there.
They didn't sell alcohol. The liability, when most of their clients were drivers, was too high. But they had bar anyway, where lonely drivers could sit and eat and talk to someone who was paid to be there.
Maggie was working behind that bar when a girl walked in alone.
Maggie took her for a road-tripper, at first. A student type who drove for glamour, not for work, and slummed it in truck stop diners for the experience.
But then she came up to Maggie and asked,
Maggie took her for a road-tripper, at first. A student type who drove for glamour, not for work, and slummed it in truck stop diners for the experience.
But then she came up to Maggie and asked,
"How do I sign up for a shower?"
(Pause now. More later.)
(Pause now. More later.)
Truck stop showers weren't the kind of thing road trippers did.
"Ask at the store counter," Maggie said. "They'll give you a number. Are you going to eat?"
The woman blinked at her like she hadn't thought about it.
"Uh," she said, "I guess so?"
"Ask at the store counter," Maggie said. "They'll give you a number. Are you going to eat?"
The woman blinked at her like she hadn't thought about it.
"Uh," she said, "I guess so?"
Maggie smiled and pushed a menu across the counter to her. "There's going to be a long wait for the showers at this hour. Give me your order now, then go sign up for your shower, and you can eat while you wait for your turn."
The girl smiled at her in thanks, broadly, showing
The girl smiled at her in thanks, broadly, showing
a bottom row of crooked teeth.
She ordered a sandwich-salad combo, then went and registered for her shower, and when she came back, she took a seat at the bar instead of a table.
"Food'll be out soon," she said. "CN I get you a drink?"
"Water's fine," the girl said. Then:
She ordered a sandwich-salad combo, then went and registered for her shower, and when she came back, she took a seat at the bar instead of a table.
"Food'll be out soon," she said. "CN I get you a drink?"
"Water's fine," the girl said. Then:
"Thanks for your help."
Maggie smiled. "Sure. You new at this?"
The girl nodded. "They don't teach you about truck stop etiquette in driving school."
Maggie laughed. "I'm pretty sure that's the first time anyone's used the word 'etiquette' in this room."
Maggie smiled. "Sure. You new at this?"
The girl nodded. "They don't teach you about truck stop etiquette in driving school."
Maggie laughed. "I'm pretty sure that's the first time anyone's used the word 'etiquette' in this room."
The girl blushed a little and rolled her eyes. "I doubt that," she said, and though her tone was a little bashful, she gave off an air of defensiveness. "I haven't been doing this long, but I already know the road is full of poets and philosophers."
This was true, Maggie conceded. But well, the thing with flirting was that it wasn't so much about the content of what you said as the style of it, the intent behind it.
"You're unique," the intent had been.
Maggie suspected this girl was gay, or at least some version of queer.
"You're unique," the intent had been.
Maggie suspected this girl was gay, or at least some version of queer.
It could be hard to tell with truckers. A lot of the women were butch in the way country women were sometimes butch, and it didn't mean they were into women.
But this girl had shaved the sides of her head and her dress sense was urban enough, and young enough, that Maggie
But this girl had shaved the sides of her head and her dress sense was urban enough, and young enough, that Maggie
suspected she knew what she was telegraphing.
She decided to test it. "You get a lot of poets making dedications to you over the radio?"
"Oh my God, constantly." The girl collapsed onto her elbows, an exaggerated performance of exhaustion. "I mean, not literally.
She decided to test it. "You get a lot of poets making dedications to you over the radio?"
"Oh my God, constantly." The girl collapsed onto her elbows, an exaggerated performance of exhaustion. "I mean, not literally.
But the flirting, the invitations to lunch at the nearest Pilot, from people who don't know anything about me! Not my age, not how I look, which..." She ran her hand through her hair, clearing it from the shaved sides. "If they did, they'd maybe see why I keep saying no."
Maggie grins. "Maybe if I cut my hair, they'd get the picture and leave me alone, too."
The girl grins back, rogueish. They share that moment that Maggie so rarely shares with anyone outside the bars she visits from time to time in Lincoln and Omaha.
The girl grins back, rogueish. They share that moment that Maggie so rarely shares with anyone outside the bars she visits from time to time in Lincoln and Omaha.
She resists the urge to tug on the hem of her uniform dress, wishing she were wearing something nicer.
The tension of the moment is delicious and intimidating and a little bit overwhelming. When the cook dings the "order up" bell, Maggie is almost relieved by the excuse it gives her to step away for a minute.
She serves the girl her meal and then has to go take care of a few other late customers, and then it's time to start the shift-change process, stacking glasses and stocking straws and condiment for the third shift.
She checks in on the girl when she can, and keeps an eye out for the shower number printed on the ticket she's set on the counter. When the number gets close, she drops off the check.
"Hang on," the girl says, "I'll give you my card."
"Hang on," the girl says, "I'll give you my card."
Maggie waits while the girl rifles through her wallet.
"Where you headed next?" she asks.
"Omaha for a drop-off," the girl says, "then Des Moines for a pickup. Not sure where after that." She hands over a visa, and Maggie takes it to the till just a couple of feet away.
"Where you headed next?" she asks.
"Omaha for a drop-off," the girl says, "then Des Moines for a pickup. Not sure where after that." She hands over a visa, and Maggie takes it to the till just a couple of feet away.
"Long haul, then, eh?"
The girl shrugs. "I didn't take this job because I wanted to be home."
Maggie cocks an eyebrow. "Where's home?"
"National City. Well, the suburbs."
Maggie whistles. "Long haul indeed."
She hands the girl her card and her receipts.
The girl shrugs. "I didn't take this job because I wanted to be home."
Maggie cocks an eyebrow. "Where's home?"
"National City. Well, the suburbs."
Maggie whistles. "Long haul indeed."
She hands the girl her card and her receipts.
She begins to walk away -- it's polite to give customers some privacy while they're filling out the tip -- but the girl keeps talking. "I'd been all over the east coast before, and all over the west, but never really been in the middle."
Maggie laughs. "You haven't missed much."
Maggie laughs. "You haven't missed much."
"Oh, I don't know." The girl closes the billfold and pushes it back across the bar. "It's been beautiful. Nebraska is so broad with these huge skies."
"It's nice at night," Maggie concedes. "If you can, stop somewhere dark tonight and enjoy the stars. You can see a lot of them."
"It's nice at night," Maggie concedes. "If you can, stop somewhere dark tonight and enjoy the stars. You can see a lot of them."
"Well, I'm parked here for the night to sleep," the girl says, "but I'll see what I can do."
The seventies music overhead cuts out, the loudspeaker calls for shower number 104. The girl's number.
"That's me," she says, standing up. "Where do I go?"
The seventies music overhead cuts out, the loudspeaker calls for shower number 104. The girl's number.
"That's me," she says, standing up. "Where do I go?"
"Back out into the store, follow the signs to the restrooms and keep going. Look for your number on the screen to see which one's yours."
The girl tips her head in thanks. "Appreciated your help today."
Maggie shrugs. "Any time."
The girl tips her head in thanks. "Appreciated your help today."
Maggie shrugs. "Any time."
She can't help biting her lip and watching as the girl walks away.
Don't see too many drivers with an ass like that.
From behind her, Eric, the line cook, laughs.
Don't see too many drivers with an ass like that.
From behind her, Eric, the line cook, laughs.
Maggie checks on her tables and finishes her stocking and then bides her time behind the counter until her shift ends. Sam, her relief for the night shift, arrives a few minutes early.
"You can go if you want," Sam says. "Things are quiet."
Her timing is beyond coincidental. It's magical. Because as she finishes her offer -- "Leave me your PIN and I'll clock you out on time." -- Maggie happens to glance past her to see the hot girl walking out to the lot.
Her timing is beyond coincidental. It's magical. Because as she finishes her offer -- "Leave me your PIN and I'll clock you out on time." -- Maggie happens to glance past her to see the hot girl walking out to the lot.
Her hair is damp and combed back, and she's so damn attractive that the loose-fitting T-shirt she's wearing over skinny jeans might as well be lingerie for what it's doing to Maggie's libido.
The girl is smiling at her phone as she walks. A girlfriend, maybe? But she didn't mention one.
Maggie gets hit on by drivers all the time, but she has never before this moment encountered one she wanted to hit on herself.
Maggie gets hit on by drivers all the time, but she has never before this moment encountered one she wanted to hit on herself.
"Yeah, thanks," she says to Sam. She scribbles her work PIN on a napkin and hands it to her, and then hastily grabs her bag and her jacket from under the bar and hurries out into the lot.
She has never before been so thankful that employee parking is way in the back, behind the truck parking. If she happens, by coincidence, to choose the route between the trucks that Hot Girl also takes -- well, what of it?
She walks with her phone in hand, as though she were checking texts, and so when she happens to run right into Hot Girl who is fishing in her bag for her keys, well, it's nothing but an act of terrible clumsiness, isn't it?
"I'm so sorry!" she says, as she bumps into Hot Girl's (surprisingly muscular?) shoulder.
The girl laughs. "No worries. You done for the day?"
"Yeah," Maggie says. "My car's over there." She points beyond, toward the back of the lot.
The girl laughs. "No worries. You done for the day?"
"Yeah," Maggie says. "My car's over there." She points beyond, toward the back of the lot.
Hot girl smiles and scoots over, even though there's plenty of space for Maggie to walk around.
"Drive safe," she says. "Have a nice night."
"Thanks," Maggie says, "you too."
"Drive safe," she says. "Have a nice night."
"Thanks," Maggie says, "you too."
As she skirts around Hot Girl and begins to walk away, she scours her brain, searching for an excuse to keep talking. She hears the jingle of keys, the clunking of them in the heavy lock of the cab, the mechanical sound of the door opening, when she pivots and calls back:
"Do you want to see some stars?"
The girl freezes with one foot in midair, the other on one of the cab steps, and squints toward Maggie in the dark.
She bites her lip and then glances at her watch. "I... I shouldn't..."
She bites her lip and then glances at her watch. "I... I shouldn't..."
Maggie wants to smack herself. Of course, truckers are always on tight schedules of maximizing driving hours around legal-minimum rest hours.
She opens her mouth to say, "That's okay," but then the girl speaks again.
"Fck it," she says. "Sure."
She opens her mouth to say, "That's okay," but then the girl speaks again.
"Fck it," she says. "Sure."
Maggie grins.
The girl pockets her phone and her wallet and stuffs her bag into the cab, and then climbs back down to the tarmac, closing the door above her with a satisfying clunk.
"Lead the way," she says.
Maggie leads her to the passenger side of her ancient Saturn.
The girl pockets her phone and her wallet and stuffs her bag into the cab, and then climbs back down to the tarmac, closing the door above her with a satisfying clunk.
"Lead the way," she says.
Maggie leads her to the passenger side of her ancient Saturn.
Her car isn't a mess, thankfully. It's not embarrassing to have Hot Girl in there with her. The CD player kicks into the Barenaked Ladies album she's been listening to, though, and she braces herself for judgment, but it never comes.
"Oh, dude, I love them," Hot Girl enthuses.
"Oh, dude, I love them," Hot Girl enthuses.
"I knew you were my type," Maggie replies.
It's an instinct. The kind of impulse that happens when the nerve signal only travels as far as your spine, not your brain.
Maggie wants to crawl into a hole and die.
But Hot Girl just cackles.
It's an instinct. The kind of impulse that happens when the nerve signal only travels as far as your spine, not your brain.
Maggie wants to crawl into a hole and die.
But Hot Girl just cackles.
"Okay, then" she says, still laughing, "I'm glad we know where we all stand."
Maggie thinks that this is patently untrue. Maggie has no idea whatsoever where she stands. She doesn't even know Hot Girl's name.
Maggie thinks that this is patently untrue. Maggie has no idea whatsoever where she stands. She doesn't even know Hot Girl's name.
But Hot Girl is smiling, mouthing along to the lyrics of "Who Needs Sleep?" and Maggie's heart surges all the way up into her throat.
This is stupid. This is completely stupid.
But she silences those voices by putting the car into gear and driving out onto the freeway.
This is stupid. This is completely stupid.
But she silences those voices by putting the car into gear and driving out onto the freeway.
They drive quietly, Hot Girl occasionally drumming along to the music with her hands on her thighs, until Maggie says, "So, um, I'm Maggie."
"I know," Hot Girl says. She grins again, and Maggie wonders if it's humanly possible not to be disarmed by those crooked bottom teeth.
"I know," Hot Girl says. She grins again, and Maggie wonders if it's humanly possible not to be disarmed by those crooked bottom teeth.
"It was on your nametag," she finishes.
Maggie nods. She knows that Hot Girl knows this, but she'd hoped it would inspire her to introduce herself. But clearly that didn't work, so she goes for the literal: "And you are...?"
Hot Girl jumps up in her seat, spine going rigid.
Maggie nods. She knows that Hot Girl knows this, but she'd hoped it would inspire her to introduce herself. But clearly that didn't work, so she goes for the literal: "And you are...?"
Hot Girl jumps up in her seat, spine going rigid.
"Oh, my God!" she says, her tone one of apology. "I'm Alex! Sorry, I thought I said that before. Or maybe that you got it from my credit card."
Maggie shrugs. "I don't really look at the names on the cards. I kind of feel like, I don't know, it's not my business?"
Maggie shrugs. "I don't really look at the names on the cards. I kind of feel like, I don't know, it's not my business?"
Alex nods. "I get that."
Maggie drives them two exits up, and then turns off onto a little two-lane rural road that runs long and deep between cornfields. After a few minutes, she turns again, this one onto a gravel road. The dark is thick, soupy beyond Maggie's headlights.
Maggie drives them two exits up, and then turns off onto a little two-lane rural road that runs long and deep between cornfields. After a few minutes, she turns again, this one onto a gravel road. The dark is thick, soupy beyond Maggie's headlights.
Alex leans forward and squints out the window. "You're not a serial killer, are you? Because I didn't get that vibe, but this wouldn't be the first time I've been pulled off my game by a hot girl."
Maggie suppresses a grin. *Now* she knows where she stands.
Maggie suppresses a grin. *Now* she knows where she stands.
"No, there's a good spot up here, I promise," she says. "And for what it's worth, there's still cell service here. At least on my carrier, anyway. So we're not, like, isolated, really."
Alex glances at her phone. "Good to know."
(Ok break time again, more... tomorrow, probably)
Alex glances at her phone. "Good to know."
(Ok break time again, more... tomorrow, probably)
